Kiss Me, Then Let's Rock & Roll
by mdnytryder
Summary: Ratchet had to leave the Twins behind when he volunteered to follow Prime in the search for the Allspark. How did their romance ever come about, and what will happen when the Twins finally arrive on Earth? Rated M for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Kiss Me, Then Let's Rock & Roll

A/N - This was inspired by Ryagelle's stories of Ratchet and the Twins. She turned me on to this threesome, and I decided to give it a try, using one of my music meme ideas. This is really a collection of drabbles strung together to form a story.

I really wanted to finish before the new movie. Well that's obviously not going to happen because I'm such a procrastinator. But, at least the first chapter is posted.

This is based in the 2007 movie verse, but I used what I think are elements of their G1 personalities.

Many thanks to balrog roike for her ideas and to Cleargold for her beta work.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Ratchet was nervous. How ironic, how silly, how, how…like an organic creature to feel this way. Who would believe it? Ratchet 'The Hatchet', Medical Officer in the Autobot Army, terror of the med bay and a decorated war veteran, nervous?

The twins had finally arrived on Earth. They found their alt modes and were being debriefed at this very moment. What would happen next? Would they - could they just pick up where they left off, so long ago? Maybe they found someone new and had become attached to another mech.

Everything had happened so suddenly, Prime deciding to leave after the Allspark, Ratchet volunteering because, truly, he _was_ the best medbot this side of the Oki-Arxiv galaxy.

There were never any promises spoken between them. When had this madness begun?

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Ratchet remembered exactly the first time he laid optics on the twins. He had already been Senior Medical Officer for 41 vorns, and these recruits were as green as the sky of planet Idun. Though untried in battle, they were not naïve and innocent mechs. Primus forbid, they were sly and cunning and scheming. And no one had warned them that Ratchet possessed a volatile temper. Ratchet snickered to himself as he remembered his throwing arm had been in fine form that day. All eight projectiles he hurled had struck some sensitive part of unarmored mech. Slag, he was good.

"Get out of here, you pit-spawned glitches!" *CLANG* *CLANG* "Being new is no excuse!" *CLANG* "If I ever catch you" *CLANG* "messing with my equipment again," *CLANG* "I'm gonna weld your afts together!" *CLANG* *CLANG* "Get out! GET OUT!!" *CLANG* "…Slagging…grumble…prank…stupid sparklings…grumble…handsome bots, though…."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

In the beginning, Ratchet was oblivious – his usual state when confronted with emotions. Olfaction research was his first true love, after all.

"Ya know, Ratch, I think they like you." Wheeljack grinned at his associate.

"You're a glitch, Wheeljack. What are you blathering about?"

"You heard me the first time, don't be obtuse. They, meaning the twins, like you. They're always hanging around the med bay, even when neither one is injured. And you do seem to be a favorite prank victim. It makes a mech wonder if you're their creator or something."

"Your CPU is definitely fried, my friend." Ratchet shook his head and turned back to his paperwork. "Where do you come up with these bizarre theories?"

"Ratchet, I must concur with Wheeljack. Ever since you first tried to banish the two hooligans from your med bay, the rate of recurrence of the twins sojourns and attempted fraternization with your person has increased exponentially."

Ratchet huffed in exasperation, "…Perceptor, you're just an aft."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Interactions between Ratchet and the twins continued on, somewhat normally. Or what Ratchet considered normal in this particular universe. The twins would get wounded, and usually he would be the mech to fix them. If one was hurt, the other was always there. If it weren't so spark warming to see the love they had for each other, it would be annoying. For some reason known only to the twins, the med bay and it's public rooms became a refuge for them when not on duty. Ratchet and the other medbots didn't mind the intrusion when things were peaceful. But, usually things didn't stay that way. Invariably, Ratchet would forget to be on his guard and get pranked. Objects would be thrown, certain mechs would get hit, and Sunstreaker would bitch about his paint.

But one day, in the heat of the moment on the battlefield, something changed.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"Primus fraggit! If I offline, it'll be on your heads! You two are going to give me a spark-attack! If it isn't one of you slagged all to the pit, it's the other. Come on, come on, they're not gonna wait for us to catch up. Sunstreaker, you have to help me fix your brother. Quickly, now…."

"What?! Slag off - I'm not a medbot. Why aren't you fixing him, what's the matter with you?"

Ratchet threw a spare wrench with his one good arm, which glanced off Sunstreaker's helm. "OW!" Sunstreaker growled and gave him an evil glare. "Slaggit Ratchet, don't mess with me," he warned.

"Aft-head, don't give me any of your slagging attitude. Now, I can't do my job properly and repair your brother with only one, half-working appendage. You're his only hope right now. If we don't take care of those ripped Energon lines and that crushed manifold, he's gonna bleed out." Ratchet gave a warm glance at the unconscious Sideswipe held in his brother's arms and murmured, "And we both don't want that."

The look on Sunstreaker's face went from agonized to antagonistic. "Yeah, right. You don't care about us. No one cares about us. We're just the mechs that do most of the dirty work around here." He started to reach out to pet Sideswipe's cheek, but stopped himself before he completed the motion. "Do your job and fix him. Now - or you're gonna end up with no working limbs, so help me Primus!"

Ratchet struggled to his feet, lurched over to Sunstreaker's side and grabbed his chin with crippled fingers, forcing the frontliner to look him in the optics. "Don't threaten me, you pathetic excuse for a mechanoid. Remember, I outrank you and I can make your life very miserable. But, considering the stress of the moment, I'll overlook your insubordination. This time."

Sunstreaker easily shook himself free from Ratchet's grip and held his tongue. No sense antagonizing the medbot when they needed his help. But later…. Revenge is a dish best served cold.

Ratchet hesitated and looked away from Sunstreaker's intense glare. "And don't ever say I don't care about you. I care about all my patients. But, you two…you two…." Ratchet blew air through his vents in a deep sigh. "It would truly destroy something deep in my spark if one or both of you offlined." He awkwardly knelt down next to the brothers. "But you never heard me say that. I will deny everything. So let's get to work and save this glitch."

Sunstreaker kept his mouth shut, not because of any threats, but because he was rendered speechless by Ratchet's admission of fondness. This would require some reflection and discussion with his twin, when they had the time.

"Fine, _sir._ What are you going to do?"

Obviously, you haven't been listening. I'm not going to do anything, you are." With his right hand, Ratchet fumbled open a compartment in his side and awkwardly pulled out an interface cable. Sunstreaker looked on in disbelief, as Ratchet held it out to him and calmly continued, "I'm going to have to connect up with you and feed you the info as you go. It's the only way to get this done quickly and properly, just relax. It's a bit complicated…."

"You're kidding me, right? You want to practically interface with me in order to fix Sides?! What are you, a perv-bot now? I'm telling Prime!"

Ratchet fixed Sunstreaker with his most fearsome glare, optics slit and steam starting to waft from his vents. "Don't flatter yourself Sunstreaker, and don't argue with me. Time's a'wasting and you'll end up killing your brother if we don't get this done quickly."

"But…but…no, I don't want to do this." Sunstreaker felt panic take hold, this was out of his comfort zone. "You're going to have to order me. I'm a fighter, I don't even know which end of a scalpel is which. Can't you call someone else? I'm not doing it!" he practically screeched.

Ratchet whacked Sunny across the helm a second time, "There is no one else, and we're all alone on the edge of enemy territory, in case you didn't notice. Quit whining and acting like a sparkling. Where are your bolts? I'm ordering you to connect with me. Don't worry, you'll do fine with a little guidance. Here's my cable, connect and I'll feed you instructions as you go. You can do this. Hurry, don't think, just do."

Swearing quietly to himself, Sunstreaker reluctantly grasped Ratchet's cable, and prepared to connect to one of his ports. Generally, information transfer was an intimate and delicate procedure, not something to be rushed or ordered into. But his processor couldn't calculate any other alternative or option to get them out of this situation. If there were, Ratchet would be scrap – officer or not.

But, at least Sunstreaker wouldn't be feeding Ratchet any information, as the connection was only going one way. He didn't need to have the medic know what he really thought about him, other 'bots, the war, and life in general. His secrets were his own to keep. Well, him and his brother's. That's what it meant to be a twin, after all.

Clicking the cable home, Sunstreaker was bombarded with fleeting images from Ratchet's CPU. Most were medical in nature, complicated tests, diagnoses and plans of treatment. Intertwined within, Sunstreaker could get the sense of Ratchet's commitment to his patients, the Autobot cause, a hatred of the loss of life, any life. But what made Sunstreaker pause and try to read deeper, were Ratchet's not-quite-hidden feelings about the two of them. It was true - he actually liked them! They fascinated him, and kept him on his toes. In fact, Ratchet admired their perseverance, their attention to duty, and even their choice of alt forms – he thought they were cute! Astounding.

Ratchet didn't seem to realize that Sunny was going a bit deeper into his feelings than was warranted in the situation. "Pay attention now, I'm going to feed you specific instructions on what to do as you go along. Don't go poking around where you're not supposed to be. You'll need to take some parts off of me to replace the…."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The whole battlefield scenario had ended rather well, Ratchet thought. Sideswipe was saved, and the three of them were picked up by their own troops just as Sunstreaker was closing up his brother's chest plate. All parties were granted some time off to recuperate.

Neither Ratchet, nor Sunstreaker mentioned the impromptu interface, and Ratchet supposed it was better that way. Fleetingly, he wondered what Sunstreaker had gleaned from the one-sided connection. He did notice that in the convoy back to base, Sunstreaker neglected to meet his optics, and disappeared quickly with his twin into the med bay with no word. Ah, it probably meant nothing. Sunstreaker was a rather antisocial mech.

But, Ratchet couldn't help wondering if he had done the right thing, and what this would do to their doctor/patient relationship.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

All was not calm in the twin's quarters. Sunstreaker was pacing back and forth in agitation, his processor consumed with the images and sensations he had registered from linking with Ratchet.

Sideswipe had been trying to relax in his berth, but the tension he was receiving from the twin bond was giving him a processor-ache. "All right, give it up. I can feel you, you know. And you're getting annoying. Talk to me."

"I can't. Anyway bit-brain, you're supposed to be resting."

"Pah, there's nothing wrong with my mind, but my chest is a little sore from your amateurish attempt at repairs."

"Frag you."

"Come on bro, let me see what's got you all riled up. You know I'll worm it out of you eventually. Sit down and link."

Sunstreaker flopped down beside his twin. He was still having a hard time wrapping his processor around the revelations in Ratchet's thoughts. He prided himself on being aware of his surroundings. He had to be, it was a matter of life or death on the battlefield after all. How could he have missed the attentiveness and undercurrents in the interaction between Ratchet and themselves?

Were all three of them oblivious? Hard to tell. Sure, Ratchet took good care of injured mechs, but that was his job, wasn't it? Searching his memory core, Sunstreaker could remember countless times when Ratchet did seem to go the extra deca-mile for them when they were really fragged up. He hardly ever allowed any other medbot to work on them, even when the injuries were minor, or from their own carelessness. And he always seemed to have an extra little pat or stroke to try to soothe away the pain or discomfort.

Cybertronians weren't necessarily an overly touchy species, but all sentient life enjoys a caress now and then. And sure, Ratchet yelled at them a lot, but they never took his threats seriously. If he hadn't reformatted them into deluxe Energon dispensers by now, he wasn't ever going to do so. They hung around the medbay because the atmosphere was comfortable. As long as Ratchet wasn't peeved with them, of course.

"You should have felt it, Sides." Sunstreaker jumped up to once again pace the floor. Discussing sentiment was hard for him, not that he would admit it to anyone. "We've had bots that thought we were beautiful, strong, worth the effort, but no one has really…I've had experiences, but I've never felt special. Before you say that's not true, I know what I felt. And you don't count worth…."

Sideswipe cut him off. "Are you sure, Sunshine? Not that I don't trust your judgment, but I don't trust your judgment."

Sunstreaker's disquiet was such he let the nickname slide. "Stop it. This is important. Important enough that I actually need to share emotional slag with you. Bleah. And maybe, even Ratchet."

"Whoa there, you're going way too fast here."

"I said, shut it and listen. I'm serious. I think we can actually have one of those, um, you know…." Sunstreaker was hesitant to actually say what he wanted.

Sideswipe threw his hands up in the air, "No, I don't know. You've got me blocked out of our bond, dumb-aft. One of those, what?"

"Come on, read my spark here and give me a break. Don't make me say it out loud." Sunstreaker opened the link between them fully.

"…Oh. Slag Sunny, you're talking about a 'meaningful relationship'! Ha, ha, ha, you're joking, right? A relationship with Ratchet the Hatchet! You need to defrag yourself."

Sunstreaker punched his twin in the arm hard enough to leave a slight dent and glowered, "I'm serious Sideswipe. Here, connect with me and I'll show you everything I felt."

"Primus, I'm just pulling your leg, you didn't have to hit me! Fine, fine, link us up, just so you quit obsessing and bothering me." They quickly connected, sliding into one another's thoughts with an ease born of practice and their twin bond.

"Whoa, Sunny…you might be onto something here. Mmm, let me process this and figure out what we should do."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The twins were discussing their new obsession.

"Is he involved with anyone? Have you heard anything? I couldn't pull up any smutty details when we linked. I bet he was blocking me." For a mech with such an arrogant image, Sunstreaker certainly was feeling unusually flustered and uncomfortable.

"Don't know. If he is, he's pretty discreet. I would bet it's one of those science nerds though."

"Ew, that's just nasty. If that's all he's been with, he should jump at the chance to be with us, right? I mean - I am the most attractive mech around here." Sunstreaker revved his engine to make his point. "And you're not bad yourself. Second-rate when compared to me, of course."

"Stuff it you aft. If you expect Ratchet to even bother with us, you're gonna have to tone down the 'I am a gift from Primus' attitude. I think you'll scare him away." Sideswipe punctuated this statement with a shove. "We need to create a plan."

Both twins were lost in thought. Sideswipe was sure he could smell the wires burning from overuse in Sunstreaker's processor.

"Let's get him something."

"What are you talking about, Sunny?"

"Let's get Ratchet a present. Kind of, like…like a…courting present. So he'll get the idea we like him and, you know."

Sideswipe cocked his head and shuttered his optics, mulling this suggestion over. What would be the pros and cons of declaring their romantic intentions to Ratchet 'The Hatchet' with a gift? It probably would depend on the gift. The silence stretched on for half a breem.

"Well?" Sunstreaker had no patience left, he was a mech of action, and he wanted action now. "Did you fall into recharge or something?"

"No, you pain in my aft. I'm trying to think. All right, a present sounds like a good start. What did you have in mind?"

"I don't know. You're supposed to be the sensitive twin," Sunstreaker sneered at his brother.

"Me! You're the artist, and artists are supposed to be sensitive."

"Huh. I guess I am," Sunstreaker declared, standing taller and pulling his shoulders back in pride.

Sideswipe had to fight to hold back a guffaw at hearing this blatantly untrue statement come out of his brother's mouth. "Okay, how about this…?"

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Ratchet came back on shift, well rested and ready to tackle the world. He stopped short as he came within viewing distance of his work area.

"Jack! What's with these packages on my desk? Where'd they come from?"

"Oh, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker dropped those off for you at the end of last shift. I think they mumbled something about from the President? Or did they say it was for your feelings of prescience? Did you do any fortune telling for them lately?" Wheeljack queried.

"Never mind you stripped bolt. Why can't you pay attention to what goes on here when you're supposed to be in charge?" Ratchet shook his head at his friend's distracted mien. He wasn't going to touch those packages with a thirty-meter pole. "Here, you open them. That way, if they explode, I won't get hit. You're better with explosions, anyway."

"Now, that's not a nice thing to say, Ratch," Wheeljack protested. "But, okay, I'll open them for you. Let's see." He moved over to the bench where the suspect packages were resting innocently. "Hmm, they seem to scan as harmless, I don't think there's any explosives involved. One seems to be equipment. All right, stand back, I'm taking the plunge."

Ratchet quickly ducked behind the doorjamb to an inner office, just in case, as Wheeljack unfolded the smaller of the two parcels. "This one is…oh, Ratchet, it's a painting. Wow! It's you working in the lab." He held the image up and twisted it this way and that, admiration evident on his faceplates.

Ratchet couldn't see anything from his hiding place. He calculated the probability of an exploding painting at only 0.000498 %, and couldn't contain his curiosity any longer. He sidled up behind Wheeljack to get a look. "Lemme see. Oh my. Oh my, I look…I look great!"

"You sure do Ratch. That's a miracle in and of itself." Wheeljack couldn't resist the small insult.

Ratchet didn't even hear Wheeljack's jab. "Look at that detail. You can see scratches on my hands. And I look all polished up, I don't think I've ever seen myself looking so shiny."

Wheeljack jabbed again, "Yes, I do realize it is a nice _fantasy_ portrait." Well, he didn't get too many opportunities to needle Ratchet, and now was as good a time as any, since his friend was too distracted to retaliate.

"And, look Jack, you can actually read some of the notes on the table. Hey, I recognize those, I was working on that project vorns ago. When…how did…I'm confused."

"I'm quite jealous, Ratch." Wheeljack said seriously. "You know who did this, don't you?"

"I would presume Sunstreaker. The question is – why? And what does he want. It makes me wonder what's in the other package."

Wheeljack eagerly reached for the second container. "Let's check it out then." Ratchet was so curious, he forgot to take cover and hovered over Wheeljack's left shoulder as his friend let out an appreciative, "Oooh!"

"Holy Primus," Ratchet exclaimed. "It's a miniature, portable, oscillating spectrum scanner. I haven't seen one of those since we got kicked out of Iacon. I lost mine in the field and always wanted to get another. How did those glitches know I needed one? And how did they get it?" He was excited and babbling. A sparkpulse later, suspicion programs re-engaged. "But, why did they give it to me? What do they want?"

Wheeljack was pretty sure he knew what was going on. "Well Ratch, it looks like a couple of mechs around here have been paying attention. Remember what I told you about the twins, long, long ago? They liked you then, and it looks like they still do. Now, what are you going to do about it?"

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Transformers. If I did, you would have seen lambos in the live-action movies.  
Warnings: Little bit of plug-n-play. Don't like, don't read.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

A/N – This is based in an alternate 2007 movieverse, using what I think are elements of the characters G1 personalities.  
Thanks, Cleargold for your beta help. You Rock!  
Yautja – proper term for the alien we call Predator.  
If there are any mistakes, blame me. I don't always do everything my beta tells me! (Does anyone?)

astrosecond = 0.498  
nano-klick = 1 second  
klick = 1.5 minutes  
breem = 8.3 minutes  
joor = 6 hours, 37 minutes  
orn = 13 days  
vorn = 83 years

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Wheeljack and Ratchet had - what they liked to call – an 'arrangement'. They were old friends.

Close friends.

Really close friends….

Knowledgeable hands caressed over a slim waist, stroking, pressing and patting, moving downward to the spiny hip. They roved over armor plating, searching out crevices where clever fingers could poke and grab at sensitive wires beneath.

Wheeljack groaned and arched up off the berth in an attempt to escape the exquisite torture. "Ah, Ratch, you always know just what I need."

Ratchet hummed, replying, "I should hope so. We've been doing this together for longer than I like to remember."

Straddling Wheeljack's lower body, Ratchet moved his hands down to the upper thighs, sending tiny electric charges from his fingertips into the metal, slowly working his way back up to the shoulders. Inserting his fingers between the plating that separated Wheeljack's upper set of arms from his lower, he alternately pulled and stroked the wires and cables.

Wheeljack quivered and moaned and his vents shifted into high gear as they tried to pull in enough air to cool his overheating systems. Ratchet pinched a wire, and then moved up to the audios. Here he paused to send a gentle vibration to tickle the responsive areas.

"Don't!" Wheeljack exclaimed, twisting to dislodge the fingers from his helm. "You know I'm ticklish, I can't stand it!"

Ratchet chuckled. "What - I'm supposed to stop? I don't think so."

Pausing an astrosecond to consider his next move, Ratchet again placed his hands on Wheeljack's waist and played shocks over his partner's midsection.

"Ratch don't…for Primus' sake, don't…stop…don't stop!"

The shocks spread through Wheeljack's upper body, warming the metal, making their way right to his spark and causing it to quiver in pleasure. "Oooh, yes," Wheeljack moaned, arms akimbo.

Ratchet chuckled at the response, and leaned over his friend. After circling a few times over Wheeljack's lower torso, Ratchet's right hand paused, while his left slid unobtrusively over the panel covering Wheeljack's spark casing - and zapped. Wheeljack shrieked, tossing himself from side to side in agitation as his structure shuddered and overloaded.

Waiting for Wheeljack's systems to reset, Ratchet continued to caress the mech splayed out before him. Wheeljack finally shuddered, activated his optics and stated, "Primus, Ratchet. You are good."

"I know."

By this time, Ratchet's fans were also running at a high level. He gently made contact with, and opened, Wheeljack's primary port. Dexterous fingertips circled and teased, stimulating the access.

Wheeljack quivered violently and his head fell back, moans increasing in volume and frequency. "Oh, Ratchet…," he whimpered, as one of Ratchet's fingertips transformed to mimic a cable connector. Inserting the imitation, Ratchet sent a gentle charge into the port.

Wheeljack's agitation became uncontrollable, and he cried out and struggled so hard Ratchet could hardly keep his place. It sounded like Wheeljack was muttering mechanical formulas – one of his bad habits during interface. It meant that he was close.

Ratchet grabbed Wheeljack's interface cable, withdrew his replica, and extended his own cable. Settling himself between the moving legs, he slipped his left arm around Wheeljack's waist, and prepared to connect, cables to ports. Drawing Wheeljack close, he pushed them home. Both mechs were inundated with information. Memories, emotions, passion – all traveled across the connection. They were venting steam and running hot - it was time for the grand finale.

"Are you ready, Wheeljack? Open for me."

Wheeljack's chest opened under the stimulation, and Ratchet's own panels mirrored the motion. Enthusiastically, Ratchet began to feel and press the spark chamber, a finger on each side. Wheeljack yelped, jerking his head convulsively backwards to slam on the berth, and twisting in Ratchet's hold. Ratchet roved his eager fingers over the chamber, edging over the spark itself, touching, tickling, pressing, all the while watching Wheeljack intently.

"Ah, Ratchet! Connect, connect!" and the two mechs screamed in sympathetic rapture, as Ratchet finally pressed their sparks together.

Wheeljack's vocalizer squealed as he overloaded, and Ratchet grunted as the intense feelings looped through their processors. He overloaded and shut down, collapsing on top of his partner.

Klicks passed as systems reset. "Oof, Ratch. How many spare parts are you carrying? You've really gotten heavy. I think you scratched my paneling. Heehee."

"Har-de-har. You are so funny, I forgot to laugh."

Sated for the moment, the two mechs lay quietly, vents running normally and regularly. Holding each other in a loose embrace, Ratchet felt his processor wander. Wheeljack picked up on it immediately. It was hard not to, as they were still connected.

"Hey, should I feel insulted that you're thinking of other mechs when we're interfacing?"

"Technically, we're not interfacing any more. And I'm sorry Jack. I just can't seem to delete these inappropriate thoughts."

Wheeljack smirked and hugged Ratchet tighter. "Aw, don't worry about it. If I had such fine mechs after my chassis, I'd be doing more than just thinking about them. Heehee. Stop being so hard on yourself. You deserve any pleasure you can get. Primus knows, this war has sucked practically all the joy out of life. You know that I'll support you and be there for you, no matter what happens."

Thank you Wheeljack." Ratchet sent warm feelings over their connection. "You're a true friend. I will reflect upon what you said. But, we better get some recharge while we can."

"Sure thing Ratch," said Wheeljack, as he disconnected. "Just one thing I wanted to ask you."

"Yes, Jack?"

"Can I watch you three sometime?"

"I'm not going to even dignify that with an answer. Shut down now, or I'll shut you down."

"Yes, Ratchet."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Ratchet lay on his berth and brooded. Generally, he wasn't a mech given to moping and pining about. He was an overachiever, always working hard, with places to go and mechs to see. He absently played his fingers around the framed edging of the painting he was currently holding. The subject itself wasn't that remarkable. A tad…boring, if you wanted to be truthful.

But the artist had taken an ordinary subject – Ratchet himself – and turned him into a thing of beauty. A fantastic work of art - easily worth 8000 quatros on the open market. That is, if a normal market even still existed in these times of war. On the current black market, it was probably worth triple that, given Sunstreaker's reputation.

Ratchet shook his head at his foolishness. Why was he even thinking of value, this was more than just a piece of artwork. This was a personal declaration of…something. A one-of-a-kind. A significant announcement of interest in his humble self.

As long as his spark pulsed, it would be in his possession. Even if nothing came of this, he would keep it forever.

All this musing was just Ratchet's way of procrastinating, and he knew it. Wheeljack had gone right to the spark of the matter. Who knew how long this war would last, and what would happen to them all. But Ratchet was still unsure.

Maybe he could make a list. That's what Prowl would do in this type of situation. He'd label one column 'Positive Points to Having a Liaison With the Twins' and another column 'Negative Points to Having a Liaison With the Twins'. That logic-glitched mech wouldn't know what to do with a relationship if it bit him in the aft. He'd probably freeze his circuits at the thought of a little electrical play. All work and no play made Prowl a dull, dreary 'bot.

Unlike Ratchet himself. Ratchet felt that if you didn't like yourself, then why would you expect anyone else to like you? He figured he had a lot to offer – he was highly skilled, after all. He knew all the 'good spots' and how to use them properly. And he…um…he…. What else could he offer to the twins? Were they looking for something special from him? Did it matter?

Ratchet flipped over and placed the portrait on the floor as he pondered the issue, sighing in frustration. He put his head in his hands and muttered to himself. Did he really want to change the nature of the current rapport between himself and the twins, possibly get entangled in an affair that could have unknown, far-reaching consequences?

At the very least, it would affect his casual flings. And how he treated Sideswipe and Sunstreaker when they were injured. Well, he already worried about them every time they went into battle. So actually, he was already involved.

He could always apply for a transfer to another division. Ratchet really didn't care for that choice; there was a lot of prestige to being assigned to the newfound Prime. And he had been with Optimus from the beginning, before he was even recognized as a Prime. In fact, Ratchet had been the first mech to actually call him Prime in public.

He hadn't worked this long and hard to lose all the perks. And he had good friends here. Did he really want to give all that up to avoid a little plug and play? Slag.

On the other hand, maybe a short vacation was the prescription. He could think things through. Never mind the fact that he couldn't actually go anywhere off the base without the risk of getting himself slagged. There were plenty of rooms where he could hide away for a few orns - and woe to any 'Bot that dared disturb him.

Who'd have thought that he, of all mechs, would have such problems? But, what exactly _was_ the problem? A couple mechs wanted to get involved with him. Would that be so bad? It's not like they were sparklings and didn't know what they were doing. All involved were legal, mature, consenting, mechs - or at least he was mature. The other two were questionable. And technically, he hadn't actually consented.

Yet.

Ratchet's processor spun in circles. Yes, no, good, bad, now, later, plus, minus, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, why, why not.

What was he going to do about Sunstreaker and Sideswipe? Ratchet snickered to himself. Maybe the question should be, 'What was he going to do _to_ Sunstreaker and Sideswipe?' Yes, he rather liked the sound of that.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

While Ratchet brooded, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were plotting. They hadn't seen armor nor wires of the medbot since the medical emergency on the battlefield - not for any lack of trying on their parts. Apparently, Ratchet was remarkably adept at avoiding them. And he seemed to have plenty of help from his 'science nerd' buddies. Sunstreaker was ready to start ripping limbs off to get information about where Ratchet had hidden himself.

With no one to depend upon beside themselves, the twins attempted to gain control of the situation. Speaking over their personal comms, they stalked their prey.

"Hey, 'Mellow Yellow' – any news on 'Sugar Daddy'?"

"Slag it, Sideswipe! Stop with the stupid epithets. I have a proper designation – it is _Sunstreaker_!"

"Ooh, big words from a small mind. Need I remind you we're undercover here? We need to have code names."

"Yeah, you want a code name, I'll give you a code name. It's tattooed on the end of my fist. Now stop playing around, this is serious business."

"Aw, you're being a spoilsport again. What's the scoop on the Doc 'Bot?"

"Negative for sightings. I just spoke to Wheeljack in the lab and he was acting weirder than normal. He kept leering and giving me these odd looks, like I had grease on my chassis or something. And I think he winked at me. It was really starting to tick me off, I wanted to pop him one."

"Focus Sunny," Sideswipe scolded. "Did he say anything about where Ratchet went?"

"Not exactly. He mentioned something about him taking a vacation."

"Vacation!" Sideswipe yelled out in surprise, missing the strange look a passing currier gave him as he darted down a corridor. "Can he do that?"

"Rumor has it. Or, maybe he transferred to another squad. Sides, what if he left for good? I think we shouldn't have given him those gifts, maybe they were too much. I think we scared him off. I think…."

Sideswipe cut his brother off mid-rant. "Sunny, you think too much. If he transferred, Wheeljack would have said transfer, not vacation."

"Oh." Sunstreaker mulled this over. "I guess so."

Sideswipe huffed a sigh and swung around the corner to avoid running into Prowl. "We'll just have to step up the pace. You go check the labs on level 3, and I'll swing by the residences again. 'Red Rebel' out."

Sunstreaker muttered as he turned left at the next corridor, " 'Red Retard' would be more appropriate if you ask me, you dumb aft. If you weren't my brother…."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Meanwhile, back at the lab, Wheeljack waved his four arms in the air as he expounded to Perceptor, describing Sunstreaker's desperate search and his vexation upon learning that Wheeljack had no (or was denying) information on Ratchet's whereabouts.

"Heehee, you should have seen his face when I winked at him. Priceless. Just priceless."

"Wheeljack, a scientist of your caliber should know better than to taunt Sunstreaker," Perceptor scolded. "He is a volatile mech, and you are indeed fortunate that he did not do you any serious harm. At the very least, you should have chosen a more appropriate time to play your immature games, as some of the equipment here is very delicate. I shudder to think of the damage he…."

"Give it a rest Perceptor. You know I love to tease. I don't think he would jeopardize any potential relationship with Ratchet by harming me – he knows we are good friends. Heehee. I can't wait until the three of them finally get together. I'm going to have soooo much fun."

"You are going to place yourself in jeopardy if you persist. Remember the old proverb about poking sleeping Yautjas with a stick?"

"Yes, Creator," Wheeljack said with a snicker. "I just couldn't contain myself - he's so easy to aggravate."

"That may be so Wheeljack, but Sunstreaker could have taken his frustration out on the equipment, which would have made me very wrathful."

"Ooh, you're sooo scary." Wheeljack shuddered in mock terror.

Perceptor glared at his fellow scientist, huffed his vents and turned back to his worktable, ignoring his laughing comrade.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"What's this I hear about you and The Hatchet, huh, Sideswipe?"

It took Sideswipe a nano-klick to notice Jazz was speaking to him.

"Huh?" Sideswipe had been linked with his twin on internal comms, and had been ignoring the conversation around the table.

"Your processor must be in another galaxy, Sides. I said, 'What's the inside scoop about you and Ratchet?' Scuttlebutt has it that you three are an item." The surrounding tables hushed, all the better to hear Sideswipe's reply.

"Ha, I wish." Sideswipe rumbled in agitation. "Ratchet is hiding from us, I believe. And who did you hear about it from, anyway?"

"Well…you know we're all cooped up here with nothing else to do right now but gossip. I heard it from Mirage…who heard it from Bee, who heard it from Hound, who heard it from Prime, who heard it from Prowl, who heard it from Bluestreak, who heard it from First Aid, who heard it from Wheeljack. In fact, give it a joor and I'm sure the news will have reached ol' Magnus' base, clear across the planet. Heh."

"Gaah! Doesn't anybody respect anyone else's privacy anymore! You mechs are worse gossips than a gang of mini-bots."

Standing nearby, Cliffjumper took offense at Sideswipe's generalization of mini-bots. "Hey! Who you calling a gossip, you piece of tin! Come here and say that to my face! I'm not afraid of you!"

The situation degenerated from there.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Unfortunately for Ratchet, his vacation didn't last much longer than four joors. The base received a general alarm for evacuation, and the occupants had approximately seven breems to get their valuables together and leave before the Decepticons arrived.

Wheeljack pounded on the door of the storage room that Ratchet had taken over in order to get some peace and quiet.

"Ratchet! It's Jack! Hurry, open up! The 'Cons are coming and we have to pack up and leave."

Ratchet opened the door as Wheeljack was in the middle of another strike on the door, and received a fist to the forehead.

"Aaahh, my head!" Ratchet flailed his hands at Wheeljack to move him away. "You drone! With friends like you, I don't need the Decepticons to beat me to death. You'll end up doing it for them."

"Sorry, Ratch. But we don't have much time." Wheeljack grabbed Ratchet's arm as he prepared to drag him back to the med bay.

"Wait, wait," Ratchet protested. He shook off Wheeljack's hold and grabbed his painting and a spare med kit from the shelf. Both mechs ran down the corridor back toward the med bay.

"The quicker we pack up, the better," Wheeljack asserted. "As it is, we're going to have to leave some equipment behind."

"Anything we leave, we destroy," Ratchet stated. "I won't let the 'Cons acquire one piece of usable scrap out of this. Slag, this is the third time this vorn they've found us. What gives?"

"All I know is we've got to get the sludge out of our tailpipes because we're short on staff and there are no mechs to spare to give us a hand. Perceptor has already moved most of the oscillating generators and…."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were off duty relaxing in their room when the alarm went off. Springer, their unit commander, sent them their orders over the comms. Sideswipe was needed on the perimeter immediately, if not sooner. Sunstreaker would be allowed to pack up their personal effects before he needed to report to the front lines in five breems.

Sideswipe had his head under his berth, shoveling spare parts, empty cases and other miscellaneous bits and pieces out from underneath.

"Where's my spare rifle! Frag it, I know I left it here somewhere!"

"It's over on the table, Sides. You were doing maintenance on it a few joors ago."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot. Thanks Sunshine."

Sunstreaker huffed, but let the minor annoyance at the nickname slide. He had other things on his mind. "Um, Sideswipe…since we're pretty much all set here, and I've got a few breems, do you think maybe I should go to the med bay and help them pack up? At least we can see if Ratchet is still here."

"Capital idea, bro. Just don't forget the time. I need you to back me up out there."

"Pff, of course I won't forget. Slaughtering 'Cons is the second best thing I do," Sunstreaker declared, running his hands down his torso and revving his engine with pride.

"Stop right there, I don't want to hear any more. You're a legend in your own processor."

"Up yours."

"Back at ya. Be careful, and see you on the front. Give Ratchet a caress for me if you see him."

"I don't think so. You can do your own fondling. If I touch him, I'm gonna make sure he knows it's from me, not you."

Sideswipe made a rude gesture at his twin, grabbed his back-up rifle, and ran out the door.

Sunstreaker hurriedly finished gathering their meager possessions before turning a flamethrower on the room, rendering anything left within useless. He sped down to the med bay, thoughts switching between the upcoming fight and the fact that he was finally going to see Ratchet for the first time since the day they had fixed Sideswipe together.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Standing just inside the med bay door, Sunstreaker hesitated. He wasn't afraid to enter, just cautious. He had never seen such chaos, even after battles when the unit had been full of wounded mechs. Shelves were in disarray, berths half disassembled, and the two med bay assistants were being supervised by First Aid as they filled various large transfer containers scattered across the floor

Perceptor scurried to and fro between his private office and the lab area like an organic arthropod. He would heap little piles of apparatus in one stack, only to return klicks later to rearrange or move some unidentified paraphernalia elsewhere.

Sunstreaker focused his optics toward the back storage area, where he took a few moments to watch Ratchet as he packed a nearby locker with medical equipment and the few spare parts available.

Wheeljack was carrying stacks of data pads from one of the back offices, and he was the first to notice the fighter.

"Hey, Sunstreaker! What are you doing here?" he called with a smile. "Are you hurt?" Ratchet's head jerked up, and he frowned at the thought of injury to the youngster.

"No," Sunstreaker replied, "I have five – no, four - breems before I report for duty, and thought you might need help packing."

"Great, we sure could use some extra help. Hey Ratch, Sunstreaker's here!"

"I can see that Wheeljack," Ratchet grumped at his annoying, yet well-meaning friend. "I do have working optics." He turned back to continue his work, feeling slightly embarrassed. But for the life of him, he couldn't quite figure out why.

"Aw, don't mind him, Sunstreaker. He just got up on the wrong side of the berth today. Heehee. Why don't you go back there and help old Ratchet?"

"Sure thing, Wheeljack." Activity slowed to a halt as the working mechs stopped to watch Sunstreaker gracefully skirt the boxes and equipment and make his way to Ratchet's corner of the room. With his back to the door, Ratchet had his scanners on their lowest setting as he tracked Sunstreaker's progress in his direction. His fans kicked in, and he wondered who had turned up the heat.

Sunstreaker halted behind Ratchet, barely out of touching range. Trying to act casual, Ratchet spoke without turning, "Don't just stand there. Put that stuff," he waved at a pile to his right, "in those containers," following the command with a wave to his left.

"Yes, sir," Sunstreaker said with a smirk, thinking of the last time Ratchet had given him a direct order.

Ratchet noticed the lack of noise, and looked up to see all optics in the room focused on him. "What're you all looking at!" he bellowed. "This isn't a union job!" One of the junior med assistants jumped with a squeak, feeling guilty at getting caught staring, and he hurriedly started stuffing instruments into the nearest box. Perceptor took exception to the indelicate treatment and scuttled over to instruct the mech in proper packing techniques. Once again the med bay swarmed with activity. Ratchet huffed in satisfaction, and Wheeljack snickered quietly to himself.

Sunstreaker was hyper-aware of Ratchet's proximity, and he took every opportunity to furtively brush against the medbot. After the third contact in as many klicks, he received a glare from Ratchet for his trouble - but no harsh command to desist. Unwilling to push his luck, Sunstreaker decreased the delicate touches to one every five klicks. They worked companionably for three breems, not speaking beyond a sentence here and there for clarification.

They were packing the last of the supplies when Sunstreaker's internal alarm went off, warning him it was time to leave. "Ratchet, I've got to go report for duty." Sunstreaker set down what he was holding and hustled across the med bay.

"Wait!" Ratchet called after the mech.

He trotted up to Sunstreaker, and stopped him with a hand on his arm just as he was about to dash out the door. Sunstreaker stared down at Ratchet, no readable expression on his faceplate.

"Sunstreaker…."

"Yeah?"

"Um…thank you for helping us pack." Ratchet usually wasn't so tongue-tied. Spitting insults was easy, saying thank you was not. "We all appreciate it."

"No problem. I was glad to help out. Sides would be here if he could," Sunstreaker stated simply.

"Ah, yes." Ratchet wrung his hands, unsure of what he should say, versus what he wanted to say. "And…I never got to thank you two properly for your gifts. Well, I just want you to know…I appreciate it." He looked at the floor, and wondered why he was acting like such a sparkling. "Be careful out there. And…I'll talk to you later, hum?"

Sunstreaker smiled at Ratchet, a genuinely happy grin. Everyone liked to be appreciated. He reached out and ran his hand down Ratchet's arm, grasped his hand and squeezed the fingers. "I'll be looking forward to it, Doc Bot."

Sunstreaker turned and darted away to do his duty. Glancing back, he saw Ratchet staring at his hand, head tilted, a thoughtful look on his faceplates. Ratchet looked up just as Sunstreaker turned the corner.

"Ratchet! We are ready to abandon the area! Wheeljack's explosive device will be detonating in one point three seven two breems."

Ratchet jerked, as Perceptor's yell awoke him from his trance. "Coming," he replied, as visions of Sunstreaker's smile revolved around his processor in a fateful dance.

"Ah, yes," he sighed to himself. "What am I going to do to Sunstreaker and Sideswipe?" He smiled, dilemma resolved, and hurried to catch up to his associates. He knew Wheeljack's timing was sometimes less than precise.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

END CHAPTER 2


	3. Chapter 3

Kiss Me, Then Let's Rock & Roll

CHAPTER 3

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Transformers. If I did, you would have seen lambos in the live-action movies.

A/N – This is based in an alternate 2007 movieverse (ignoring ROTF for now), using what I think are elements of the characters G1 personalities.

Anything science-related I made up.

Thanks to cleargold for her awesome beta work.

I read 'binary blockhead' somewhere, but I don't remember what story. If it was you, dear reader, drop me a line and I'll credit.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

astrosecond = 0.498  
nano-klick = 1 second  
klick = 1.5 minutes  
breem = 8.3 minutes  
joor = 6 hours, 37 minutes  
orn = 13 days  
vorn = 83 years

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Unfortunately, the seven-breem estimation of Decepticon arrival and the detonation of Wheeljack's device were slightly miscalculated.

The base had been successfully evacuated, but the Decepticon flyers had caught up to the stragglers. This wouldn't have been so dreadful if Wheeljack had been with the rest of the Autobot evacuees. He had lagged so far behind that he was left out of the circle of protection the Autobots routinely kept for their science and medical teams.

Over time, the Autobots had discovered Wheeljack possessed a line of glitched code in his CPU that impelled him to watch the destructive results of his more volatile projects. In this instance, his glitch got him into serious trouble.

Wheeljack exulted as his explosives certainly did their job, but he was so close to the action that the force of the blast knocked him off his feet and flung him high into the air - within scanning range of the advancing Decepticons. Wheeljack hit the ground hard, and he felt something inside his torso crack. He squealed and writhed in pain and immediately sent Ratchet a general distress signal with his coordinates on their private frequency.

"Heehee, ooh, that's not good, not good at all," Wheeljack wheezed. "Ratch is going to deactivate me for sure. That is, if the 'Cons don't delete me first."

Huffing in pain, Wheeljack forced himself upright and was instantly hit with a series of cluster bombs. They blew off one of his lower arms and pounded him back into the ground. He found just enough strength to crawl under the dubious protection afforded by a collapsed wall before his systems crashed.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

On the march far ahead, Ratchet was blithely discussing with Perceptor the relative merits of including an ultraviolet spectrum in a diagnostic scan when Wheeljack's signal lit up his commlink.

"But Ratchet, reflecting upon the substantial difference in wavelength, wouldn't it be advisable to refrain from allowing that sort of radiation in proximity to a spark?"

"I have done some limited research on the effects, Perceptor. And with that in mind – excuse me Perce, I'm getting a ping from Jack…Primus' Blood!" Ratchet swore. "I'm going to shake that slag-brained, aft-headed glitch until his head falls off, then I'm going to throw it into the bowls of the fragging Unmaker!"

"Ratchet! What is wrong?"

"Jack's in trouble, he got caught in the base explosion. I've got to notify Prowl!"

"Oh, no!" Perceptor squeaked in dismay.

Immediately upon being apprised of the situation, Prowl readied a squadron to rescue their valuable scientist/engineer. "Ratchet," Prowl commed, after huffing a deep, long-suffering sigh, "I would like you to accompany the team and provide medical assistance. I pray, by Primus, that this is a rescue and not a recovery."

"Yes, Prowl. I'm more than willing," Ratchet said fiercely. "I am the best choice. Plus, this will give me first crack at demonstrating to Wheeljack the error of his ways."

Fighting a smile, Prowl nodded and said "I'm sure you will, Ratchet. I'm sure you will. Prowl out."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The slight skirmish over a downed and injured 'Bot turned into a real battle. Angry over the explosion that had destroyed the troop commander and decimated a quarter of their number, the Decepticons had demanded reinforcements. At this time, their leadership was nonexistent and the fighting mechs were in chaos, allowing the Autobots the upper hand - for the moment.

Ratchet would never have found his friend if Wheeljack hadn't had the presence of processor to send his last coordinates. As Ratchet gently dragged him from his temporary shelter, Wheeljack slowly regained awareness. Clucking in dismay at Wheeljack's missing arm and the large puddle of blue liquid spread on the ground, Ratchet scolded his friend. "You really did yourself a good one this time, Jack."

"Heehee," Wheeljack gasped weakly. "Hey…Ratch…. Guess I should have…paid better… attention…to what…was sneaking up…behind, huh?"

Ratchet ducked at the sound of missals flying over his head, a little too close for comfort. The middle of a battle wasn't the ideal place to do repairs, but Wheeljack couldn't be moved any farther until his fuel pump was patched. More fluid had already pooled underneath Wheeljack's lower lumbar.

Ratchet was furious at his friend's stupidity. In between the booms of artillery and the screams of flying shells, Ratchet scowled and berated his best friend. "Don't even start! You should have known better than to leave the protection of the Collective, you glitched aft! I've told you time and time again to patch that line of code so you don't get so close and personal to your explosions. Slag you - I'm tempted to just knock you on the head a few times to see if that will fix your quirk. If you offline, Prime's going to make me bring you back to from the Well of Allsparks just so he can offline you again himself."

"I'm sorry. I just…wanted to see…. If they had only…been a few…klicks later…I would have destroyed…their entire forward phalanx."

Ratchet bristled. "Shut up! Just…shut up. Enough talk, save your excuses for The Prime. He's going to be very irritated. We were supposed to sneak away, and now we're in the middle of a major firefight. Thanks a lot, Jack."

"Heehee. Sorry…," Wheeljack grimaced, as Ratchet – none to gently – jerked on a loose cable. "Aargh!"

"Quit your nattering. I'm tired of you always being sorry. That glitch of yours is going to be your deactivation. And mine, most likely. Archive this, Jack – I swear by Primus' bolts, if I die here with you, I will haunt you forever. Forever! You hear me? I have future plans, you know." Ratchet grabbed one of Wheeljack's remaining hands and continued, "I'm going to put you in standby for a bit. When you come back online, we'll be safe in our new base." Ratchet mentally added, 'I hope', not wanting to cause Wheeljack any more stress.

Without waiting for a response, Ratchet shut down Wheeljack's motor functions and forcibly put him into stasis mode. A piece of the wall Wheeljack had sheltered under proved to be an adequate operating table. Ignoring the bedlam happening all around, he commenced field repairs to Wheeljack's pump.

Four point two seven klicks later, the main leak was sealed and Ratchet was almost finished. "Slag, I'm good," he muttered to his unappreciative patient, as he prepared to withdraw his medically enhanced fingers.

A too-close snarl off to his right made him start. Jerking his head around, he searched for the source. His optics landed on one of Soundwave's four-legged, symbiotic drones. Crouching, it was preparing to spring upon the two apparently defenseless mechs.

"Slag me!" Ratchet swore. He attempted to gently disconnect his hands from Wheeljack's internals without ripping any of the just-completed repairs. His rotary saws would be adequate protection - if he could only bring them to bear.

Ratchet was no tactician, but during those astroseconds of panic, his processor attempted to calculate their survival odds. He could tear his hands free of Wheeljack's torso and bring his saws to hand to protect himself. But by doing so, he would rip out the essential fuel lines he had just replaced. That would certainly destroy Wheeljack. Save himself to doom his friend? Not likely. They would die together as a couple of processor-impaired fraggers – destroyed by a pathetic 'Con who was little more than a drone. Just their luck. Ratchet's spark stuttered.

Setting its front paws, the Cassetticon braced itself to pounce. Just as it leapt into the air, a yellow streak flew over both Autobots to tackle the creature. Both beings rolled, screeching and clawing just paces from the exposed mechs.

Lights flared. Mechs screamed as Ratchet hurried to complete the closing of Wheeljack's torso. He'd just finished an outside weld when a soft thud just behind had him jerk upright in fear. He instinctively transformed his left limb to bring out his saws and swung back blindly, surprising himself when he actually hit something. Ratchet blinked as the head of a Decepticon soldier fell onto the ground, energon spewing from severed lines. "Well, I guess I showed him not to mess with a medbot," Ratchet said proudly to the still unconscious Wheeljack.

Hearing a roar of anger, Ratchet started and glanced over to see Sunstreaker on his back, with the drone's jaws clamped around his left forearm. "Unmaker take you," their savior bellowed, "you slagging, pit-spawned, Primus-forsaken, aft-headed, glitching, ugly fragger! That's a new finish!" Sunstreaker wiggled his knees up and under the belly of the beast, and kicked out with his feet, flinging the pest over his head. Ratchet's optics tracked the figure as it crashed into a couple of small Decepticons halfway across the battlefield before milling figures blocked his view.

Jumping nimbly to his feet, Sunstreaker gestured rudely at his vanquished foe and yelled, "Take that, you downgraded piece of trash! Come back here again and I'll rip you a new waste extraction port!" Looking down at his arm he frowned and brushed ineffectively at the deep punctures and scratches on his armor growling, "Slag, that's gonna rust." Turning, eyes narrowed, Sunstreaker scrutinized the speechless medbot and his comatose patient. "What's the matter, Ratchet?" he smirked. "Having problems fixing Wheeljack? Do you need my help again? Jeez, if you want an excuse to interface, you don't have to go through all this drama. You just have to ask."

Ratchet's vents stuttered at the thought. Discomforted, he sputtered, "In your recharge defragmentation, you little automaton."

"Ratchet, you wound my spark. I thought you and I had something meaningful. Wellll," Sunstreaker drawled, striking a suggestive pose, legs akimbo, chest out, hands on hips. "I hope I won't be waiting _too_ long for you to make it a reality." Not breaking optic contact with Ratchet, he theatrically raised his hand to his mouth, licked his finger, and ran it slowly from his lip, down his chin, across his breastplate to his right thigh.

Ratchet's optics shot open in surprise and his vents kicked into high.

Sunstreaker winked, turned and took a protective stance a few paces away from the two mechs, guns drawn and optics tracking the action, both on the ground and in the sky.

Unable to think of a suitable scathing retort, Ratchet shook his head and hurried to finish his work on Wheeljack. On more than one occasion he had boasted, "You break it, I'll remake it." He should have kept his vocalizer quiet. But, he had a reputation to uphold, fixing anything, anywhere, under any condition…no matter what the distraction. Even if said distraction was a well-built, attractive, fascinating, virile front-liner who kept shaking his shiny aft every few kllicks and turning around to see if Ratchet had noticed.

Grumbling to himself, Ratchet thanked Primus that Wheeljack was offline and that there were no other conscious witnesses to this circus. "I'm surrounded by morons," he moaned. Sometimes, it was hard being the best.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Everyone was exhausted. In addition to the recent battle, mechs were busy and stressed just trying to settle in and become accustomed to a new base of operations.

In Ratchet's humble opinion, the quality of this place was far below what he deserved. But, poor mechs on the run can't be choosey; they were lucky to escape this latest skirmish with no casualties and only a few wounded.

Ratchet was tired, irritable and filthy. His hands and most of his torso were plastered with energon stains and scrapes – souvenirs from Wheeljack's latest lapse of judgment, and the few repairs Ratchet had been required to do for Jack's rescuers. He also had a mild case of kainotophobia. It was going to take him orns to bring order to that pitiful supply closet they were calling a med bay after their relocation. He felt justified in being grumpier than usual.

Wheeljack was doing well and showed no after effects of his recent surgery. Currently, he was sitting on an abandoned generator near the parts washer in the newly commissioned Recreation Area, working out the stiffness in the cables of his replacement limb. Most of the off duty mechs were present - either gossiping, refueling or boasting of their prowess in the skirmish. Ratchet was standing next to Wheeljack as they watched Perceptor clean his lenses for the third time. Ratchet's back was to the door, so he didn't see Sunstreaker enter and pause, giving the room a once-over.

Wheeljack, who _was_ facing the door, noticed Sunstreaker immediately and grinned.

"Percy! Accelerate it, will you?" Ratchet grumped. "How many times are you going to clean your slagging lenses? I've got to get to recharge before I involuntarily shut down. My logic circuits are totally fried."

Perceptor retorted, "I am just being efficient Ratchet. Cleanliness brings a mech closer to Pri…."

"Blah, blah, blah," Ratchet interrupted the proverb. "Well, some of us have things to do, places to be…."

"Mechs to molest," Wheeljack interjected.

"Jack!" Ratchet wheeled on Wheeljack in annoyance, "you're pushing your luck. Shut it or you're going to find my fibrillation de-macramizer tool in your mouth. And you're _not_ gonna like it."

As Ratchet turned, he noticed Sunstreaker deliberately making his way in their direction and his spark gave a little jump.

"Hurry up, Perceptor. Sunstreaker is coming and Ratchet has to beautify his filthy self," Wheeljack teased.

Perceptor jerked and looked around, clueless once again. "Sunstreaker? Where?" he blurted.

"Shhh, not so loud you rusty gear! He's coming this way," Ratchet shushed his friend, embarrassed.

Wheeljack grinned, "What's the matter, Ratchet? Heehee. Is something going on that we don't know about?"

"Cease! This is all your fault!" Ratchet turned on Wheeljack, prepared to make good on his earlier threat, and saw that the mech under discussion had arrived and was standing within speaking distance, hip cocked and arms crossed over his chest, waiting to be acknowledged. He was staring at the trio, face expressionless.

Ratchet's optics widened, and his mouth dropped open. "I…I…I…gotta go." He spun on his heel and practically ran for the exit, giving Sunstreaker a wide berth. Most of the other mechs in the room stopped whatever they were doing, and watched their CMO turn tail and flee like a Decepticon tetrajet was on his aft.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

All the mechs involved in the earlier battle had been given three joors of leave to settle into their new lodgings and unwind. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had already been assigned their new quarters, and were quite pleased with the lottery. It was not the cleanest room on the new base; in fact, there were quite a few patches of rust on the north wall and an interesting pile of armor scraps left in the corner by the previous occupants. But, the berths were oversized – made for mechs much larger than themselves. What luck. If they could convince Ratchet to participate in a relationship, there would be no excuses about having no place for all of them to stay. Sunstreaker had set out to find the medbot, while Sideswipe finished up the last bit of room organization.

Following the loud talk and music to what was obviously the new base's recreation/refueling room, Sunstreaker had paused in the doorway to scrutinize the room's occupants. "Ah, just the mech I've been looking for," he muttered to himself. He transmitted over the twin bond. "Sides, I've found Ratchet. He's here in the rec room."

"I'm on my way."

Sunstreaker had strutted into the room like he owned it, ignoring everyone except the scruffy mech in the back. Yes, Ratchet desperately needed a wash and wax. Sunstreaker wondered what it would be like to give Ratchet a thorough cleansing and a quality detail - to run his hands over that form as he and his twin settled down with the medbot between them in one of their large, comfortable berths…. He'd stopped before Ratchet and his science nerd buddies, lost in fantasy for a moment.

And his processor almost froze in shock as Ratchet looked at him with panic, mumbled something, turned and raced toward the exit. What the…?

Sunstreaker immediately commed his twin for backup. "Sideswipe, Ratchet's running away from me!"

"Primus! What did you do, you binary blockhead?" Sideswipe yelled.

Sunstreaker retorted, "I didn't do anything. He just saw me and took off. I'm in pursuit mode, down the Epsilon passageway."

"Keep me posted, I'll catch up with you in about 3 klicks. Sides out."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Ratchet darted out of the rec room, pump heaving in distress. Could Perceptor have yelled Sunstreaker's name any louder? Ratchet didn't think the mechs in the hallway heard. He couldn't handle this right now, he was too tired, he needed more time, he needed at least…a few orns. He always played the predator; he wasn't used to being the prey.

Needing to collect his thoughts, Ratchet ducked into an unmarked door, which turned out to be an empty storage room. He slammed the door closed and leaned against it, panting. Rubbing his hands over his face, he pulled deep drafts of air through his intakes and forced his fans to slow down.

"Okay," he mumbled to himself. "This is no big deal. Stop acting like a sparkling, get out there and if you see either of them, just act pleasant. No pressure…they already know you are interested. Just come right out and tell them that you need rest. Recharge now. Talk later. They will understand. Where are your bolts, mech?"

One last huff and he cracked open the door to take a peek. No one was in the corridor, so he slipped out and slunk along the wall towards the med bay. Just as he approached to the intersection, Ratchet heard the soft clunk of metal on metal. A mech was following him. Glancing back, he saw Sunstreaker with a scowl marring his handsome face.

"Eep!" Ratchet squeaked. That was not the face of a mech who would take time to listen to anything Ratchet had to say. Putting on a burst of speed as he rounded the corner, Ratchet palmed open the first door he saw. Steps invited him upwards and, after quickly locking the door behind, Ratchet wasted no time scampering up to the next level.

Reaching the top of the landing, he heard a small pulse burst from the corridor and the door blew halfway up the stairs. With an impending sense of dread, he couldn't help but pause and look back at his doom. Sunstreaker slithered through the shattered door and started deliberately climbing the steps. "Oh, Primus!" Ratchet twirled to continue deeper into the room. But, waist-high horizontal cables hampered him, strung with no rhyme or reason across the vast space. What was this, a Primus-slagged Vosnian puzzle room? Ratchet did his best to navigate the haphazard placement, but there was really nowhere for him to escape to. Huffing, he glanced back to see Sunstreaker following in his wake, gracefully ducking under cabling, optics intent on the pursuit of his quarry.

Attention diverted, Ratchet tried to move forward but didn't notice that he was now practically trapped in the junction between two cables. He tried forcing himself forward, but the cables had slipped between his armor plates and pinched tender wires in his waist. Ratchet had to admit to himself he was stuck.

"Ah, frag me." Giving up, Ratchet flopped to the floor and started crawling away underneath the strung cables, trying to make his way back to the stairs. He didn't get far. Sunstreaker pounced, none-too-gently, on his lower half and grabbed him around the waist.

Truly caught, he gave up. "What," Ratchet panted, face down on the floor, "do you want?"

"Dominance," was the growled reply.

Whether Sunstreaker meant dominance over Ratchet, or something altogether different didn't matter. Visions of the physically powerful mech looming over him made Ratchet shiver in titillation. His fans kicked on to disperse the heat that one word generated in his systems.

Sunstreaker stroked Ratchet's back plating. "Ratchet, what's the matter? I don't scare you, do I?" He revved his engine to send a soothing vibration into the medbot's frame. "I'm sorry, but Sideswipe and I need to talk to you. Please, just relax. Sides will be here in a few klicks. Then I'll let you up."

Ratchet was too weary to protest. The heavy weight of the mech on his lower half actually made him feel very safe. There was a pleasant vibration throughout his whole frame, and the touches on his back were very comforting. Ratchet languidly nuzzled the hand that was now gently caressing his face. This wasn't so bad, he could get used to this kind of attention. Ratchet shivered again, but couldn't keep his CPU from idling. He gradually slipped into a peaceful recharge as exhaustion finally claimed him.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Sunstreaker was content to just lie on top of Ratchet, gently touching whatever armor he could reach. The shivers from the recharging mech underneath him were intoxicating. His twin bond told him that Sideswipe was just making his way up the stairs. "Sideswipe, I've got Ratchet," he commed.

"I can see that," Sideswipe verbally replied, standing over the two mechs. "You might have been a little too heavy handed there, bro. What'd ya do, knock him out in order to catch him? I didn't think Ratch would be that much of a challenge for you."

Sunstreaker glowered back at his twin and continued to stroke Ratchet's helm and back. "Mute it, glitchhead. He's completely worn out. Let's get him back to our berth and clean him up a bit. I think we all could use some recharge right now. This emotional slag is very exhausting."

Sunstreaker rose as his brother laughed and together they hefted the unconscious medbot between them. The next few cycles should be very interesting.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

END CHAPTER 3


End file.
